LORD  BYRON  and  his  TIMES
Byron
Documents Biography Criticism
Lady Morgan’s Memoirs
Thomas Charles Morgan to Sydney Owen, 7 October 1811
INTRODUCTION & INDEXES
DOCUMENT INFORMATION
GO TO PAGE NUMBER:
Preface
Vol. I Contents.
Prefatory Address
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Vol. I Index
Vol. II Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter IV
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Vol. II Index
Creative Commons License

Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.
Produced by CATH
 
Monday, October 7.
Dearest, dear Love,

Will you, can you pardon my ravings? How angry I am with myself! I have at last got a sweet, charming, affectionate letter from you, and half my miseries are over. If my two last letters gave you pain, think what misery (well or ill-founded), what horrid depression must have been mine to inspire them. Your rea-
BETWEEN CUP AND LIP.463
sonings are all very fine and very conclusive; but, alas, I parted with reason to a certain little coquette, and I can attend to and feel no language but that of the heart. Still, however, I must insist upon my distinction, that while I am ready to give up everything to your lovely, amiable family feelings, I can ill brook your associating any unpleasant idea with that of returning to me. If I know my heart, neither solitude, sickness, nor slavery would be unpalatable, if it gave me back to Glorvina. I would seek her amidst the plague, in an African ship, or, if such a place existed, in her own father’s dominions. I have but one object in life, and it is you; and so little can I bear the idea of your preferring anything to me, that I have been angry with Olivia when she has had too much of your attention. Indeed, indeed it is because I love, that I cannot suppose it possible any feeling of disgust, or ennui, can associate itself with your return to me, and, I would fain hope, happiness. You cannot think so meanly of me as to suppose the dimity chamber could urge me to draw you from your duties. Trust me, love, you never win me more than when I see you, in imagination, discharging them; but when I picture to myself the thoughtless, heartless Glorvina, trifling with her friend, jesting at his sufferings, and flirting with every man she meets; when I imagine her more in love with the vanities of this wicked world than with me, I feel not sure of her. Do not think me cruel in reminding you that you have lost one husband by flirting, and that that makes me feel it is just possible you may drive another mad. I cannot,
464 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
give you to the amusements of Dublin. God knows (if he takes the trouble to know) this “pile” is “dreary” enough without you; but it makes me curse the hour I threw away my love on one so incapable of returning it, when I see you looking forward to a solitary winter in it; trust me, dearest, a little natural philosophy will make time pass pleasantly enough, never fear.

I read part of your letter to Miss B——, relative to “Almighty Tact,” and she laughed tout son saoul. She says, if there is one human being more thoroughly destitute of tact than another, it is Glorvina—and, indeed, I think so. In the instance of myself you have failed utterly. If you knew me, you would not combat my feelings by your affected stoicism; you would flatter my vanity with the idea of the separation being as painful to you as to me; you would soothe me with tenderness and not shock me with badinage. If you knew how much eloquence there was in the magic ——; if you knew the pleasure I felt in touching the paper that had touched your lips! Oh, Glor.! Glor.! have you been all this while studying me to so little purpose? In reply to your orders, know that I have not opened my lips to say more than—“a bit more,” “very good,” and “no more, thank you, My Lord,” since you have been gone. Lady Abercorn swears she heard me sing, “Il mio ben quando vena,” and says I am Nina Pazza. In good truth, I believe she is right, for surely nothing but madness would distress itself, and what it loves more than itself, as I do. I assure you I have made myself quite ill, and others
BETWEEN CUP AND LIP.465
present; my calmness is acquired, unnatural, and deceitful. I am sorry, very sorry, for your poor dear dad; but hope he is not seriously worse; say everything that is kind to him from me, and tell him I hope we shall spend many a pleasant day together yet. Do you know you shock my tenderness by the ease with which you talk of Miss Butler. Surely we must adopt two terms to express our different loves, one word cannot imply such different affections. I will think and speak of nothing but you. As to my commissions, do not, best and dearest, put yourself to any inconvenience about them; when done you may send them by the mail, the pleasure of receiving anything from you is worth the carriage, though it even amounted to gold. There is, however, but one commission about which I am anxious, and that is to love me as I do you, exclusively; to prefer me to every other good; to think of me, speak of me, write to me, and to look forward to our union as the completion of every wish, for so do I by you. Do this, and though you grow as “ugly” as Sycorax, you will never lose in me the fondest, most doating, affectionate of husbands. Glorvina, I was born for tenderness; my business in life is to love. Cultivate, then, the latent feelings of the heart, learn to distrust the imagination, and to despise and quit the world, before the world leaves you. How, dearest, will you otherwise bear the hour when no longer young, lovely, and agaçante, you will see the great ones lay aside their plaything and forget their companion who can no longer give them plea-
466 LADY MORGAN'S MEMOIR.  
sure; where, but in the arms of affection, will you then find consolation? Fly, then, to me by times. You have much wisdom to acquire yet, with respect to happiness; and believe me, the dimity chamber is a school worth all the Portico’s in the world, Mrs. Stoic. There nature reigns, and you will hear none but the language of truth. Do you recollect folding up a piece of blotting-paper with one of your letters? I preserve it as the apple of my eye, and kiss it, as I would you, all to pieces.

My sweetest life, I do not mean an atom of acrimony towards you in all this; but misery will be querulous. I determine to pass over my sufferings in silence; but find I cannot. Do not say I am selfish; if I were, I should have pressed you to marriage when I could have done it effectually. I should have opposed your leaving me; and now I should give up all to you for comfort. I flatter myself, that hitherto every sacrifice has been on my part. My only comfort is, that my wishes have given place to yours.

I do not wish you to cut any one; but I think Parkhurst, too particular in his attentions; besides, how can I bear that anybody can have the pleasure of talking to you and gazing on you when I cannot. I should be sorry you offended a friend on account of any whim of mine; you can be civil to him without encouraging his daily visits. Strangely as I show it, I am obliged and grateful for your every attention, and in this instance in particular; but indeed I do not wish it. I have not so mean an opinion of myself to be jealous of anybody’s alienating your mind from me
BETWEEN CUP AND LIP.467
by exciting a preference, et pour tout le reste j’en sais assez.

I have kissed your dear hair again and again, as I do the bottle, twenty times an hour; do not judge of my temper by this instance, for, believe me, I am not always, nor ever was in my married life, in the horrible state of mind I now am. You know I think ill of life in general, and kick against calamity as if I received an affront as well as an injury in it from fate. But trust me, no chance of life can reach me to wound as I am now wounded; when reposed on your dear bosom then my spirits will be calmed, my irritability soothed. If I thought there was the remotest chance of my giving you the uneasiness I know I now do, when once you are mine, I would release you from your engagement au coup de pistolet. No, no, my beloved, I hope, after all, we may be enabled to say, in our age, c’est un monde passable, at least it shall be so to you, if I can make it so. God bless you, my own dear, sweet, darling girl; don’t, don’t be angry with me, for I am very wretched without that. Mr. Eliot is come at last, and I must go dress and acquire steadiness for “representation.”

Adieu ma belle, ma chère Glor.

Mortimer.
9 o’clock.

Pity and forgive a wretch whom nothing but your presence can console. God, God bless you, dear Glorvina.